


Clutching Mirrors

by voleuse



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-17
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I thought teetering and stumbling were done, gravity pulling me down</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clutching Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Set during S1. Title and summary adapted from Allison Joseph's _Clumsy_.

One night, the Doctor decided he was in a holiday mood, so they spent the next thirty-two days dancing around December 25. Sometimes it was the twelfth, sometimes it was the twenty-fourth. Sometimes it was the thirty-first, but it was never, ever New Year's Day.

("Defeats the purpose!" the Doctor explained. "It's the end of the season, marked by promises already broken. Not worth the tachyons, Rose, trust me." Then he blinked. "And there's also the vomit. I'm not very much fond of vomit, are you?")

A proper Winter Solstice, Rose discovered, involved many uncomfortable things. At least, the Doctor claimed this was proper--Rose thought he was getting a lot of this from old King Arthur movies, but she couldn't decide if his smile was mischievous, or just happy. In any case, she wasn't allowed to wear shoes, and the drinks were vile, and oh! There was one bloke she was pretty sure had planned on sacrificing her or something, except the Doctor had put an arm around her waist, muttering about handsy druids while he yanked her the other way.

("Bethlehem's dreary this time of year, Rose!" He punched a button on the TARDIS console, flipped a toggle and grinned. "There's absolutely nothing happening, anyway." Rose pouted, and he rolled his eyes. "You've been reading the wrong sorts of tabloids.")

They waltzed in full, formal dress, elaborate pearl earrings tangling in stray locks of Rose's hair. The ballroom was crowded, and the air was thick with heat. She thought, in hindsight, the punch had a bit too much _punch_ in it. She giggled, and leaned against the Doctor's chest. He chuckled, claiming she was scandalizing the natives, but she didn't care, because she wouldn't see any of them again.

(She slung an arm over his shoulder as he carried her to the TARDIS. "Immoral woman," he purred against her neck. "Painted Jezebel." Rose smiled into his hair, the scruff rough against her skin. "Jezebel's a pretty name." Against the small of her back, his hand clenched.)

At the South Pole, he bundled her in furs and poly-something boots. The sun seemed frozen above them, and she sang the chorus of some song he thought ridiculous. The North Pole wasn't much different, aside from the encounter with the bear.

(She bounced on her toes, feeling the ice even through the layers and layers and layers. He brushed his thumb against the scarf covering her nose, and she wondered why he didn't have to wear big, poofy mittens, too. "You're the only human being for hundreds and hundreds of miles," he told her. It took her several seconds to decipher why he hadn't said _we_.)

They floated on the equator, off the coast of Sulawesi. It was cooler than she expected, but never kissing-close to cold. The sky was clear, indigo-dark, and explosions echoed in the air, languid and loud. Startled, she asked him what that was, and he told her it was fireworks.

(He took her to a church, and they perched in the back pew, postures straight and heads bowed. They watched as petitioners trickled in, offering prayers to saints, and burning incense to spirits unforgotten. "Isn't it heresy or something?" she asked. "It's faith," he murmured. She didn't understand.)

He never offered to visit one of her own Christmases. She asked once, and his smile froze, and she told him never mind.


End file.
